


promises and visions of a country unseen

by HumiliatedRook



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: F/M, a drabble collection if i can commit, first and only warning some may be unpolished, how this ends nobody knows, if you thought you saw tag/formatting/rating/speed edits no you didn't, inspiration for future writing maybe, some angst some fluff some sex all fun, this show takes up too much space in my brain, warning: non-canonical character deaths in chapter 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 03:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30066141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumiliatedRook/pseuds/HumiliatedRook
Summary: There's no end to love, there's no end to truth, there's no end to me, there's no end to you.---A Beth/Benny drabble series.
Relationships: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts
Comments: 23
Kudos: 42





	1. why did you roll your dice, show your cards?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: an alternate ending to [a previous story I wrote.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29355588)
> 
> unofficially dedicated to my friend [thisismetrying](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisismetrying/pseuds/thisismetrying).
> 
> 200 words. angst.

After six weeks of radio silence, the cold whip of Moscow wind long dissipated, Beth Harmon forces herself to call Benny Watts.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice, breathy, breathless, knocks all the air out of Beth’s lungs, collapses the house of cards of things Beth had planned to say. Her hand stiffens around the phone.

“Is this Benny Watts?” Beth deliberately asks that which has an obvious answer.

A distant giggle, like her head is tilted away from the receiver. “Not right now, who’s this?” Beth can only imagine sharply, vividly, this wiry chess player (who _isn’t_ , _was never_ hers) covered in this stranger’s lipstick and bitemarks, maybe sleeping, maybe antsy for this woman to crawl back to bed.

Beth scrambles for the armor she’d built and so carefully lowered to dial New York.

The woman speaks into Beth’s silence, her tone blithe and smug and terrible, “I can take a messa - ”

Beth hangs up. She banishes words like _outplayed_ , _betrayal_ , _i shouldn’t’ve expected differently_ to a crevice of her mind she never wants to look at again. She sinks to the floor of her kitchen, to hug her knees close and reinforce her defenses so she never, ever falls again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe in miracles, so I believe in Season 2 of Queen's Gambit.
> 
> Come sit at the cool kids' table to talk about Beth/Benny, Queen's Gambit, and most recently MBTI personality types: https://discord.gg/yAn4nUkv. It expires 3/22/21, so afterward message me for a link on [coruscating-ly on Tumblr](coruscating-ly.tumblr.com) or [kataclysms1 on Twitter](https://twitter.com/kataclysms1).
> 
> I might spin these into actual things later; you are welcome to suggest ideas or run with these or criticize!
> 
> Title: Dreams Come True by Brandon Flowers  
> Description: Lightning Fields by the Killers  
> Tag: Stuck Here on Earth by Keuning  
> Chapter title: Jilted Lovers and Broken Hearts by Brandon Flowers


	2. the heart is hard to translate, it has a language of its own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: coincidences.
> 
> unofficially dedicated to [dialectica-esoterica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dialectica_esoterica/pseuds/dialectica_esoterica).
> 
> 300 words. sex.

Benny casually lets Beth know he’s staying an extra night in Toronto before he drives some absurd number of hours back to New York City. Beth nods and, after Benny drifts away to his posse, finds herself _coincidentally_ finding a cheaper plane ticket back to Kentucky for Sunday instead of Saturday.

On Saturday night, donned in a green mesh chemise that would scandalize an unfortunate passerby, Beth takes the glossy hotel elevator to a floor that Benny had _coincidentally_ mentioned his room was located and lets herself into the unlocked room.

He arches an eyebrow at her from his desk, where he reads, coat, boots, and hat adorning him like usual.

Beth has long since realized Benny’s personality is rubbing off on her from all these clandestine meetings. Benny thrives on taking chances in a way that meshes well with Beth’s intuitive playing (more commonly known as an aversion to thinking too hard or far ahead). They don’t even plan the next location and time - these things just _happen_. Beth knows there have been times where she’s knocked to no answer (and once, to the gobsmacked face of Georgi Girev), but Benny likes gambling, and Beth likes probability, and it’s all just part of the game.

In the corner of the room, Beth spots a raggedy duffel bag, unzipped. And on top of clothes and books is the headscarf she’d left behind from their last encounter in Copenhagen. She can already feel the knot he’s about to tie and bind her wrists with in, maybe, T minus five minutes? Six, if Benny's going to blindfold her, too.

Beth isn’t sure what to call their game, but she likes coincidences and she likes kissing Benny and she likes playing intuitively, so she smiles and orders him to take off his coat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: All This and Heaven Too by Florence and the Machine


	3. thunder, pick-ups, and cheap gasoline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: all dialogue.
> 
> unofficially dedicated to my romantic partner, who does not know and will probably never know I've written this, and the nicknames and burnt pizza bagels that inspired this.
> 
> 700 words. fluff.
> 
> warning: no plot, just complete utter nonsense. sorry.

“Do you like being named Beth?”

“Do you like being named Benny?”

“Have you ever considered, maybe, Lizzy? And then be like _Lizzie Harmon took an axe_ \-- “

“And gave her boyfriend forty whacks?”

“Ouch. I would hope it takes at least forty-one.”

“Why was your first association Lizzy Borden? Are you from Massachusetts?”

“Am I? Never noticed. Do you think you could be like Jane Austen's Lizzy?”

“I’d rather not.”

“I mean, I’ve got the pride and you’ve got the prejudice.”

“I’m _just_ Beth.”

“You are certainly not just. No one who considers themselves any definition of _just_ turns their nose up at my fine cooking.”

“If you call soggy pizza _fine_ ; how do you mess up even TV dinners? It’s just supposed to be twenty-five minutes in the oven?”

“Lizzy, your oven’s as clunky as the Chicago Gambit.”

“Don’t call me Lizzy. My oven works great.”

“Would you prefer, Your Highness, Queen Elizabeth III? You spend enough on clothes to be a royal, for sure.”

“If I say yes, does this mean you’ll bow to me?”

“Hmm...better not, then. You’re also not as fashionable as Elizabeth Taylor -- ow!”

“You deserved it. And at least _some_ of us are human and require more lightweight clothes than that leather duster in the summer.”

“Life is too short and too sweet to have anything but a signature look.”

“Yeah, but the signature look should at least look _good_.”

“Hey, you know what else is short and sweet? Liz.”

“Like Liz Clairborne?”

“Is that a friend of yours?”

“Never mind. Liz makes me sound cooler than I am. You can call me Liz if I can call you Ben.”

“Oh, no. ‘Ben Watts’ sounds too much like an exceedingly dim lightbulb.”

“I mean, the phrase describes your brain well enough.”

“Harmon Lizzy -- could almost be ‘harmony’ but that’s basically the opposite of how you function.”

“Thank you. And I said no Lizzy. What if I call you Benjamin?”

“That’s not my na-ame.”

“Would you prefer being called ‘ _Benn-ee_ ’ with two 'e's?”

“But _why_?”

“Why call me anything but Beth?”

“Everyone calls you Beth. Except for Townes.”

“Speaking of, has he ever told you his first name?”

“No, but I have some theories. One, he’s secretly a spy for the Soviets, and so he obscures as much of his identity as possible.”

“That would explain his exceptionally fast visas.”

“Yes, that call to Moscow was supposed to be me enticing you to quit the tournament with a passionate declaration of love.”

“And instead you talked about pawns.”

“I’m not the best with words. I prefer physical demonstrations of affection.”

“I’m well-aware, my exceedingly dim lightbulb.” 

“Anyway, theory two, he’s painfully embarrassed to be named something like Desiccant.” 

“ _Desiccant?_ ”

“Theory three, he thinks it gives him that allure of mystery.”

“That is quite seductive.”

“Oh, I know.”

“You and Townes?”

“I did have a romantic life before I met you. The good old days... _hey!_ ”

“Your skin makes a good nail file... _Benny!_ ”

“Uh huh. Don’t dish out what you can’t take.”

“As if you could eat those romantically prepared pizzas any more than I could.”

“Leave my pizzas out of this.”

“I’ll just call Townes to ask why later.” 

“He’s not going to tell you.”

“And how would you know?”

“I’m _Benny Watts_ , grandmaster of chess and Elizabeth Harmon.”

“You’re _Benny Watts_ , who would eat TV dinners without using the oven if I weren’t judging you every second of the day.”

“Ah, yes, _Beth Harmon_ , a judge whose opinion about food choices I definitely value. Please, can you sign my copy of your cookbook? Oh wait -- ”

“I’m _Beth Harmon_ , grandmaster of chess and Benny Watts and bedrooms and everything else.” 

“You could be more dominant in bed, you know.”

“I’ve been looking for an excuse to take your knife and cut your clothes to shreds.”

“I’d love every second of it.”

“You’d have to buy a whole new wardrobe.”

“What, you’d shred my whole closet? That’s just bordering on torture. I’d just do the same to you. And I think that would destroy you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“If he goes for the knight, Lizzy.”

“I love you, too, but don’t call me that!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: cowboy in LA by LANY


	4. i was closer than ever to feeling alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: library.
> 
> unofficially dedicated to [ Auburn_Waves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auburn_Waves/pseuds/Auburn_Waves).
> 
> 500 words. sex/a hint of fluff.

For all his posturing and peacocking, Benny can be an introvert, seeking anonymity behind a poker hand obscured by a smoke-filled lounge over the hubbub of the chess hotspots. When Benny is on the verge of an emotion, he does not confide; instead, he hides in the library.

Not to read, necessarily -- he already owns copies of all their chess books. He prefers to scrawl his own annotations (remarks? complaints? insults?) into the margins; when pressed for comment as to their utility, he says, “My comments increase the book’s value tenfold, are you kidding me?” 

But here, isolated amongst musty books on dusty shelves and respectable readers in crisp suits and large spectacles, he’ll play chess against his greatest opponent -- himself. Unorthodox openings, understudied defenses, ten-move traps.

Being alone makes sense to Benny. Pieces can be controlled; people cannot. A king exists to be checkmated; people's motivations are more ambiguous. A chessboard is beautiful; the world too frequently lacks grace, patterns, satisfying wins.

On a fitfully frustrating day of sorting parking fines over the phone, Benny walks from his apartment to his favorite seat in the library's basement, by reproductions of Thomas Eakins' _The Chess Players_ and Sofonisba Anguissola's _The Game of Chess_. Shrouded from the public's eyes, he closes his own.

Then promptly jumps out of his skin when a warm hand brushes his hair. He collects himself quickly to snap, bewildered, "Beth, have you been following me?"

Beth shrugs, sorry but not really sorry. "I was curious. And I already finished playing through my book."

"Congratulations," Benny responds dryly, suddenly recognizing the mischievous spark in her eyes but not quite believing the girl who'd coyly liked his hair three weeks ago would be so daring. "Was that all you came for?"

Beth casts a furtive glance this way and that, but no one ever comes to the basement, Benny knows. She wastes no time kneeling and unzipping his jeans. He hardens instantly against her fingers. To achieve a more comfortable angle for her neck, he stands from the stool and rests his hand on the metal bookshelf, still not _fully_ believing what was happening and not _quite_ willing to stop her. When she starts working him with her mouth, he inhales sharply, biting his tongue to avoid making sound and maintain some semblance of composure.

She pauses briefly to tie her hair back. Benny can just make out the blurry shapes of books around them, out-of-date encyclopedias. She drops right back to her task, picking up speed, regulating her breathing, hitting a rhythm. Her hands press against his legs for balance. Benny leans back, his bare skin registering the rough plaster on the wall.

Maybe Benny is an introvert, and maybe he prefers to be alone, and maybe this fiery-haired woman pushes him out of control, beyond understanding, but maybe ( _definitely_ , he thinks, as she sucks particularly hard and he stops being able to think beyond the pleasure shooting fucking _everywhere_ ), what they have is something beautiful, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Reality in Motion, by Tame Impala


	5. all the things that i'd do different if i just had the chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: lightning.
> 
> 300 words. Grief.

After the exceptional number of losses she's suffered in her life, more in terms of people rather than chess, Beth learns that grief never gets easier.

Gossip rags expect an ice-queen career-woman to see pieces rather than people, calculating, bending others to her iron will, sacrificing carelessly. To use mortals and cast them aside with a flick of her wrist. But this is not, has never been, the case. They don’t see the photos that Beth frames and treasures in her home, photos of Alma Wheatley and William Shaibel and, in time, so many others (Townes, then Harry, then Mike, pangs in her heart, undiluted by time). 

Grief never gets easier, not even when Beth is 90, and Benny passes away at the ripe age of 98. Their children create beautiful memory books and buy flowers. They're teary, too, but they write the obituaries and take care of the funeral arrangements. They comfort her, and Beth lets herself mourn. As she has with so many family and friends before, she remembers.

She remembers his face pressed to hers at their wedding; all their chess games, tournaments, exhibitions, casual; naming and raising their family; polishing their World Championship trophies. Benny had taken her title while thunder had raged and lightning had crashed outside the arena. The storm had only been half as fierce as the culmination of their historic rivalry. 

Love is a lightning field, Beth thinks, thrilling, terrifying, dazzling, gone in a flash. Every night, she lets herself fall back in love with him, regret every argument, capture every smile, tell him everything. She wishes she could do it all again. Instead, she donates his books to the archives of a chess museum for historians to dissect and players to revere, immortalizes him through philanthropy. _Benny, I'll see you soon_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Lightning Fields, by The Killers

**Author's Note:**

> Suggestions and criticisms always welcome :)


End file.
